Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [119]
Exiting the house, Martin forced himself to put as much weight down on his knee as he could bear, ambling across the lawn and to the Subaru as quickly as possible. He wanted to be out of the parking lot and on the road before the police had time to respond. Throwing the car into drive and using his left leg to operate the gas and brake, Martin exited the parking lot just as the flashing blue lights of a police cruiser appeared in front of the Pearl’s home.
Sophie and Sherman Pearl would be fine, and, with luck, Clive Darrow would spend the rest of his life in prison.
Martin had never felt better in his life.
Martin was diagnosed in the emergency room with a concussion, three broken ribs, and a broken patella.
“I’ve always been such a klutz,” he said to the nurse as the doctor stapled the gash in his forehead closed. “No more midnight snacks for me.”
Martin had told the hospital staff that he had tripped on a cat toy and fallen down the stairs head over heels, which in fact wasn’t far from the truth. Including an exposed nail on the railing to explain the cut in his palm, his story seemed to be consistent with his injuries. No one had doubted his account.
In the past three hours, Martin’s head, chest, and knee had been X-rayed several times. After examining the films and putting him through a physical examination, the doctor explained to Martin that he was fortunate in that his patella fracture was nondisplaced, meaning that he would not require surgery. Martin was shocked. As he hobbled into the emergency room, he had been sure that his entire leg would need to be amputated. By the time he had arrived at Hartford Hospital, the knee had swollen to three times its normal size and the pain was near blinding. Almost immediately following his arrival, doctors inserted needles into the knee to drain the building fluid, thus exponentially reducing the swelling and the amount of pain that it was transmitting to his brain. The doctor, a balding, seemingly disinterested man in his fifties, explained that Martin would be fitted for a knee immobilizer that he would need to wear for at least four weeks.
As for the broken ribs, these would heal on their own. “As long as you’re not coughing up blood,” the doctor explained, “there’s not much that we can do for your ribs. Just be careful and have them rechecked in a few days.”
The nurse had told Martin that, as a result of his concussion, he would not be allowed to drive home and would need to call someone for a ride. He was surprised when he found himself giving his father’s phone number to the nurse.
Martin Railsback, Sr., arrived at the hospital just after 4:00 a.m. Having been a police officer, he was familiar with the workings of an emergency room and found his son rather quickly. The doctor was handing Martin prescriptions for pain medication and antibiotics, in order to ward off any potential infection from the open wounds on Martin’s head and palm. The padded immobilizer was already strapped onto Martin’s leg.
“Fell down some stairs, huh?” his father asked with a combination of suspicion and humor on his face.
“Yeah. Not very smart, huh?”
“Nope.”
A minute later the doctor shook Martin’s hand and left the two men alone.
“Thanks for coming,” Martin said as he reached for the crutches that the doctor had left propped against the wall. “I’m sorry about this.”
“No problem, son. I’m glad you called. Let’s get out of here.”
As they ambled down the hallway toward the exit, Martin found himself feeling more normal than he had in a long time. He was hurt, had been treated in the emergency room, and his father had come to pick him up. Just a week ago, Martin would’ve had to call his best friend, Jim, for a ride, and though Jim would have come without complaint, it wasn’t your best friend whom you wanted in these moments. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Martin had a